


Déjà Vu

by TheWhiteSwordsman



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, Fighting, Memories, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteSwordsman/pseuds/TheWhiteSwordsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's kill or be killed, Jack," Solidus said, pointing a gun at his forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love Raiden's character and his past, I just wanted to see what went in his mind and how was he reacting to all of the trauma.

_The last thing I remember was the cold needle of the syringe being pressed into my skin, injecting a substance that changed my way of thinking._

George told me that the "medicine" was good and that it would help me with my training and forcus. And it did. I am more powerful than I ever was before. At least, that was what George told me. My fighting technique improved tremendously  and my speed and agility  matched those of an experienced soldier. But something that I had was slipping away...

My innocence. My sanity.

It is hard to think of happy thoughts without having the medicine force it out for me. I'm surprised that I am even allowed to think of such thoughts right now. Whenever I think of something that isn't for used on the mission or anything else that is irrelevant, a pressuring squeeze fills my mind, followed by an eerie high beep ringing in my ears. I do not like it when it happens, but George tells me to toughen up and obey more or else the punishment would get more severe.

Despite fearing the medicine, I try to think lightly about when I had a choice. Wait, never mind-  _I never had a choice to begin with._ But I try to remember when I couldn't fight yet. When I was protected under George's  will and when I was never threatened or feared of death. Now, things have changed. Everyday could be my last. Before all of this began, George treated me like I was his son... but as soon as I turned six years old, I was given an AK-47 and thrown into training. He said that I wouldn't be able to see him unless I pass the two month's training. It seemed to be crazy back then, but now everything is normal to me.

My name is Jack. Most people call me  White Devil. George says that he is proud to have a soldier like me. He also laughed when my new nicknames were being spread like flies on a dead carcass.

 _But I don't care._ I only do what is instructed of me and I do it without hesitation.

If I fail a mission, I don't get to eat for two days and I would be kept in a closet for the same amount of time. The punishments depend on how important the mission is. Sometimes, if the directive is extremely important, it will only one person  to mess up and then the _whole_ squad would suffer the same punishment. There were a lot of complaints from my comrades after hearing that rule.

 _But I don't care._ George said that if someone complains about the rules or disobeys, then  _I_ would have the right to discipline them.

And when he means by discipline, I  _do not_ show mercy. One time, I had to beat one of my squad members to death because he allowed one of our top colonels to be assassinated  by the enemy. Punch after punch, kick after kick, I can hear the bones and cartilage of my victim crack underneath my bloodied knuckles. Ever so often, whimpers and muffled crying came out of the poor boy.

_But I don't care._ _It was his fault for his punishment. He just has to die faster if he wants the pain to be over._

Yet fortunately for him, he had to be shot in the head because he didn't die fast enough. During the two hours, he just bled nonstop as if his circulation was a running fountain. Lucky him, he got to end his misery, which I could say the least for my knuckles.

 

Despite how my likes for anything is forbidden, the only passion I'm allowed to feel is  _pain, revenge, fury, and discipline._ I have come to enjoy inflicting pain on others- not my comrades mind you. My favorite part of what I do is getting to press the cold metal of the blade against the beating pulse of my target. I can hear the rushing breath and heartbeat as if it were on a megaphone. My victim's fear oozes out of them that you can literally smell the anxiety and desperation of wanting to breathe one more breath.

 _But I don't care._  George says that when a man begs for his life, he is not worthy to live. And I agree.  _Let the coward die, it puts him out of his misery._

Whenever I or my squad completes a mission, we are rewarded with two meals that day and a movie, action movies. We are shown movies with a lot of buff guys and evil people, which creates more killing scenes. Some of my comrades cover their eyes during those parts, which recieves a hard beating. But me, I  _enjoy_ watching those. And besides, if the medicine approves of me feeling this way, then it is okay.

That actually was the moto we had to remember:  _If the medicine approves of your way, then it is okay._

 The motto may have been perceived as an advantage for us soldiers, but it was more strict than that. 

 

Sometimes at night, I don't dream anymore. If I do, it is often replace by nightmares. I don't like to sleep anymore. I used to, but not anymore.  My squad and I sleep in a room together on mats that me made from a previous  mission: steal materials from the town and create your own bed. The early missions were based on stealing from towns, actually. One time, my squad had to steal food from people and not get caught, unless one of us wanted to get beaten.

 I don't like to train. I feel like it is restricting me from what I was born to do:  _kill._

 

 

Most people fear me and call me "mentally disturbed" because I show no emotion and only obsess over missions and homicide. Some choose to stay away from me.

_But I don't care. Those who refuse to cooperate with me end up dead anyway. And so many people have died both under my hands and George's men._

Because of my  high kill record and skill, I have now recieved a new nickname: Jack the Ripper. Before, White Devil and other names were mentioned, but now George calls me that now after my presence struck fear and became infamous thought base after base. I am now feared and considered as a professional and advanced warrior. So I guess that I am respected too. Which is better, to be feared or respected? I couldn't care any less, really. Both got me what I wanted, and if anyone were to challenge that, then I will teach them a lesson.

And that is the only thing that I  _do_ care about.


End file.
